Capercaillie
Crosswinds
The Shepherdess
Oh, Och King that the disease is in their love! >Gun he broke my heart and he loosened the veins of my health
I was looking after him, his white chest ghil bhdin - ghil bhdin.
My Shepherd, if you want to talk about it
Gura loatsa no dail, my hand, if you come close to me:
It's a pity that I and you don't happen
On the island that you will walk, without rowing, without coite, without stirrer - without stirrer.
Don't you see a girl, as she gets up in a quiet foggy morning.
With her character according to her singing songs in their way:
That your daughter is sweet, the stars played with music,
/>'Treat me, poor me, after I was alone in a dream.
The Fair Shepherd
Alas and alack, what a deadly sickness is love!
There is none who suffers it but feels every day is a week.
It has broken my heart and sapped the springs of my health
To keep gazing after you, young of the fair white bosom.
Fair-haired lad, if you but care to speak first,
My hand shall be yours without delay if you come for me:
Play it is true, you and I did not find ourselves
On an island with no ebb, with no oar, no boat, no rudder.
If you could see such a shoot springing up on a calm, misty morning,
With looks to go with it fit to win the hearts of thousands:
Sweeter is your voice than the strings of violins playing,
Can you not take pity on me,? alone without you, lamenting on a knoll?

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